


AU Promptapalooza

by onawingandaswear



Series: OMGCP Tumblr Collection [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 80s, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Atomic Blonde AU, Baby Jack Zimmermann, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Magical Realism, MerMay, Multi, Soulmate AU, Spirits, cup magic, ice magoc, royal au, see chapter notes for details/warnings, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onawingandaswear/pseuds/onawingandaswear
Summary: 1. Royal AU - Canada's beloved monarch dies with no heir apparent, somehow leaving Bitty to deal with Canadian federal agents, some sordid Zimmermann family history, and the fact that his hockey-player boyfriend is now literally a prince.2. 'Lake Spirits' - The afterlife is a lot wetter than Jack imagined. A lot wetter, a lot more Canadian, and full of a lot more cute boys. Well, one cute boy in particular. (Zimbits fic for Mermay: Jack dies in an outdoor skating accident and wakes up with a tail and guardianship over a lake.)3. Prompt: NHL!Bitty + NHL!Jack + Star-Crossed Lovers4. 'The Morning After' - a Baby Jack, Cup Magic interlude5. 'Flurry the Falcon' - Jack has a crush on the Falconers' mascot, he just doesn't know who's inside.6. 'Literal Cup Baby' - Bob and Alicia try to explain Jack's, ah, 'questionable' origins.7. Friends with Benefits AU (NSFW) - Bitty and Jack aren't technically 'together' but Jack sure is jealous for someone who won't commit.8. Prompt: Angel!Bitty + Cult + Jack





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All fics and one-shots were previously posted to Tumblr under @whoacanada

“Aww, bummer,” Chowder says, face buried in his phone as Bitty puts the finishing touches on a custard tart for his advisor’s birthday. “Canada’s King died.”

“Canada still has royalty?” 

“Not anymore,” Dex chirps.

“It’s not like he had any power,” Nursey wanders in and kicks out a chair beside Dex. “Just a figurehead. It’s all for show. Trudeau is still in charge.”

“It says they don’t know who the heir is — that’s kinda cool right? Someone’s walking around like a secret prince or something.”

“Well at the very least we’ll be in for some interesting media coverage,” Bitty adds. “ _’Hunt for the Secret Royal’_  will be all we hear about for weeks.”

“Bitty,” Chowder spins in his chair and waves to get his attention. “You think Jack knows anything about this? He’s a history buff, I bet he’s all over it.”

“You know, I’ll have to ask him when he gets back from Vancouver,” Bitty offers, placing the last violet garnish and snapping a photo after he closes the push notification regarding the passing of  _‘Canada’s beloved monarch, Laurent IV’_.

 

* * *

 

Much later, Bitty will look back and think about how he really needs to pay more attention to current events.

 

* * *

 

The knocks come quickly, loud and forceful enough that Chowder rouses from the sofa. 

“— _Whasat_?”

Dex is already at the door, peering through the peephole warily.

“They look like Feds,” Nursey comments, watching from the kitchen. “They’re finally coming for you, Poindexter.”

“Fuck off, they’re  _Canadian_  Feds,” Dex corrects, face pressed against the door. “They’re wearing little maple leaf pins.”

“They invaded New England and they’re just cleaning up the ones they missed —“

“Is someone getting arrested?” Ollie comes running down the stairs behind Wicks.

“Probably if we don’t open the door.”

“Don’t open it! We don’t know what they want!”

“What are y’all hollering about, now?” Bitty calls down the stairs.

“We’re going to prison,” Dex calls back, recoiling from another round of hard knocks.

 _“You know we can hear you,”_  comes a muffled voice through the door.  _“We’re looking for Eric Richard Bittle? Is he here?_ ”

“Definitely Canadian.”

_“Thank you.”_

“Oh, shit, Bits,” Chowder laments. “Go hide they’re gonna arrest you!”

 _“No, we aren’t,”_ says the voice again.  _“We’re not arresting anyone.”_

“Real convincing,” Dex chides.

_“Look, this is not how we normally do this, okay? Please open the door, it’s a matter of national security.”_

“Which nation? Show me a badge.”

The Haus falls silent while Dex apparently gets his answer.

“Well?”

Dex steps back and looks up at Bitty, who is still hovering by the stairs in his shorts and a Falconers’ championship tee.

“You might want to put on pants, Cap. Some nice Canadians with guns want to talk to you.”

* * *

Three minutes later Bitty is fully clothed when they open the door on two tall, suited men with earpieces.

“I’m Agent Harper, this is Agent Camden,” the first man introduces, then gestures to his clearly exhausted partner. “We’re here to speak with Eric Richard Bittle.”

“You’re speaking to him,” Bitty says cautiously. “What can I help you gentleman with?”

The two explain they’re agents of the Canadian government meant to bring Eric into protective custody, though they refuse to elaborate on exactly why.

“This is shady as hell, you can’t just take him to Canada,” Chowder stage whispers, and Camden sighs outright.

“We can’t say anything else because we were asked not to reveal details until you’re safely on Canadian soil. It’s a direct request from the Family.””

“The mob?” Wicks gasps.

“Oh, my god,” Harper drops his head.  _“Americans._ No, the  _Royal_ Family.”

Bitty may not be the most intelligent person at Samwell — that title goes to the fourteen-year-old in his senior-level Calculus class — but he’s pretty darn sharp and his mama taught him to read between the lines better than anyone.

He reaches up and grips the ring hiding on a chain beneath his shirt.

“Can I call Jack real quick? I just need to grab my phone,” Bitty asks, already rising to retreat to his room when Camden holds up a hand.

“No need, we can pass along any messages.”

There it is, the confirmation Bitty was looking for.

From out of seemingly nowhere another Agent comes down the stairs with a box of Eric’s possessions, his laptop dangling several cords from the side, and he can only assume his phone is stashed in there among the mess.

“Hey! You can’t just —“

“You’ll get them back once we’ve determined there’s no evidence of tampering. We need you to surrender anything with an internet or bluetooth connection. External hard drives, etc. It’s a matter of national security.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Nursey interrupts, recording everything on his own phone, “We’re talking ‘Canadian’ national security.”

“What do you want with Bitty?” Chowder pressures.

“To keep him  _safe_ ,” Camden insists again.

 _“Hold on!”_  

A woman in a blue pantsuit comes bounding up the porch steps and in through the front door, waving at Harper to stop before running over, holding out her phone. 

“Here, he wants to talk to the Consor – oh,” she stops, seeing the rest of the people in the room. “Um, the… Bittle?”

“Right.” Bitty warily takes the phone and says, “Hello?”

_“Bits!“_

The relief Bitty feels is so palpable he thinks like his legs might give out.

“Oh, God, Jack? Honey! What’s going on?”

_“I’m so sorry, we just landed and service is a nightmare— I’m fine, listen, trust me, I’ll explain everything once you get to Montreal. This is just complicated and we’re still trying to work out the details – You can trust the people we sent.”_

“You mean the men in black stealing my stuff? Jack, they took my  _phone._ ”

_“I’ll make them get you a new one. Just get here and I promise everything will be okay.”_

There’s a rustling on Jack’s end and suddenly Bitty can hear Bob.

_“Eric? Son, listen, some things have come up and I believe it would be, ah, safer to have you in Montreal for the announcement —”_

“Bob,” Bitty interrupts, not missing the flash of panic on the blue-suited woman’s face. “Real quick question, are you the new King of Canada?”

The agents around Bitty slow to a stop and on the other end of the line Bob makes a noncommittal sound that’s the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

“Oh, good lord,” Bitty sighs. “Please put Jack back on.”

Some more shuffling and,  _“Bits?”_

“Am I being kidnapped because your father is the secret heir to the Canadian monarchy?”

Jack is silent for a beat and Bitty fights the urge to panic.

 _“Bud, you’re not being kidnapped because_ Papa _is the secret heir. You’re being kidnapped because_ ‘I’  _am.”_

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

They land and pull into a private hangar with more black SUVs, more agents, and, blessedly —

“Jack!”

Bitty nearly trips over his feet getting out of the plane and crashes hard against his boyfriend’s chest.

“Honey?” Bitty points defiantly at the red coat of arms painted on the tail of the jet. “Explain. Now.”

“Bits, I didn’t know anything about this before a few days ago,” Jack apologizes, turning pink. “I swear I wasn’t keeping this from you on purpose.”

“I’m pretty sure Nursey was on the phone with the State Department when we left,” Bitty cautions as they’re waived into another car. “Just so you know what’s coming.”

“We’re aware, sir,” replies another agent Bitty doesn’t recognize. “It’s been handled.”

“Oh really? And my finals?”

“Handled as well.”

Bitty clicks his seatbelt and turns to Jack, who has fallen guiltily quiet beside him.

“You had time to tell everyone else but me?” Bitty huffs, looking out the window as the small motorcade departs, weaving through unfamiliar streets.

“I had nothing to do while you were in flight so I tried to fix as much as I could to make this less stressful.”

Bitty gives up some of his irritation when he feels Jack take his hand.

“I’m still mad at you for sending secret service agents instead of just coming yourself.”

“ _Lapin_ , it took an entire country to keep me from you.”

It takes a moment for Bitty’s brain to catch up with his heart because the line is clearly rehearsed but it still makes him swoon.

“Did you come up with that yourself?” Bitty chirps, trying to regain composure. “Which one of these suits prepped that apology for you?”

“Surprisingly, that one came from my brain,” Jack says, flashing a pleased if hesitant smile. “You still mad?”

“Tell me the truth,” Bitty says softly, lacing their fingers. “Then we can discuss how I feel.”

Jack takes a breath and Bitty watches the way the streetlights dance over his tired face.

“This is everything I know …”

 

* * *

* * *

 

There isn’t a castle or palace, just a federal building; albeit an old, stately one. And on the fifth floor of that building, Eric Bittle is just ripping into one Robert Zimmermann.

“How are you not king?” Bitty questions. “You’re his father, you  _made_  Jack, so how is he the successor?”

“I abdicated in ’75,” Bob explains, taking a glass of water from Alicia. “It was the only way I could play. I changed my name, gave up any rights to any titles or property — and thank God I was half decent on the ice or who knows where I’d have ended up — but the result is that I have no legal claim to the throne.”

“What does this mean for Jack? If you voluntarily abdicated, shouldn’t that remove him from the line of succession?”

“Normally, yes, but there’s no one else of blood left. I didn’t have any siblings, my father was an only child, so Jack has as much a claim as anyone. Now, if Jack ascended, he could reinstate me and step aside, but that’s only if Jack agrees to be crowned in the first place.”

“Did you ever expect this? Did you know?”

“No, and not in the way you think,” Jack is perched on the edge of his chair, hair unkempt and tie loose around his throat. “Papa always called me his little Hockey Prince but I didn’t think he was talking in a literal sense. Who would?  _Crisse_ , Bits, I’m not King material.”

“You’re a great leader,” Bitty defends reflexively, though Jack waves off the compliment, standing to pace.

“This wouldn’t be an issue at all if there wasn’t an arcane constitutional stipulation that ownership of all properties and holdings in the name of the ‘Monarchy’ will revert if there’s no natural-born ruler,” Jack rubs his eyes and groans. “No one ever amended the documents so if we don’t step in a good chunk of Canadian land will end up being owned by England again. If ‘I’ don’t step in.”

“Trudeau has called me ‘three’ times today,” Bob adds apologetically, “and I will be god-damned if we lose Banff to the Windsors.”

“It’s not on you, Bobby,” Alicia counters. “You literally gave up your right to be defensive.”

Bitty turns back to Jack, who has stopped to look out the window only to be immediately shooed away by an aide who quickly closes the curtains.

“Jack?”

“All I have to do it take the title long enough to amend a two-hundred-year-old treaty and then we can just dissolve the monarchy,” Jack tugs the knot out of his tie and falls back onto the couch beside his father. “That’s easy enough. Right?”

“You could abdicate as well,” Alicia offers. “Let them keep hunting for another heir. It could take years, or days, this doesn’t have to fall on your shoulders, Jack.”

“I would be the most hated man in Canadian history,” Jack explains, leaning his head to rest on the couch back, staring at the ceiling. “I have to do it.”

“I never wanted you to be in this position,” Bob apologizes vehemently. “I’d never even considered the possibility.”

“What about the Falconers? Can Jack still —” Bitty realizes a hair too late that Alicia is making an aggressive slashing motion across he throat.

“I watched a Knight’s Tale with you at the Haus, right?” Jack laughs sharply. “Remember that scene where the prince is trying to joust and no one will face him?”

“No more hockey,” Bob says, pained.

“Can I talk to Eric in private?” Jack says, lifting his head. “Please?”

The room clears quickly and Jack’s parents follow soon after with parting hugs.

Bitty’s never felt so unsettled in his entire life.

“Jack,” Bitty starts when they’re finally alone. “I don’t understand, where does this leave me? Why am I even here?”

Jack makes a pained sound and tugs Bitty close.

“Bits, you’re not going anywhere — this doesn’t change anything between us.”

“I respectfully disagree, hon.”

“We just can’t do things like we planned,” Jack says sadly, taking Bitty’s hand. “It’s going to be different for a while. Harder.”

“Alright,” Bitty breathes, trying to keep himself together. “I understand.”

Bitty pulls off his necklace,  _his ring_ , chest aching with the effort, and hands it to a bewildered Jack.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Bitty can’t find the courage to look up from his feet, he knows he’ll just start crying. “It’s one thing for you to be the first out hockey player, this is something else entirely.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack questions, voice cracking. “Are you…  breaking up with me?”

There’s a brief rush of angerthat Bitty tamps down when he finds Jack looking down at him with an expression of abject devastation.

“You’re not breaking up with  _me?_ ” Bitty clarifies, trying his damnedest to figure out what is going on.

“What? No!  _Crisse,_  I’m not breaking up with you!” Jack hands back the ring and pulls Bitty toward him. “Bits, I still want to marry you.”

“It’s just…I thought…you’re going to be a King now, for real, or a Prince — can we even  _get_ married?”

“That’s why Papa wanted you here for the announcement,” Jack takes his hands. “You may have to give up your US citizenship but if we’re legally married before I take the throne you’ll have rights, a title.”

Bitty balks for more than a few reasons, not the least of which was he had convinced himself their relationship was over not a minute prior.

“Honey, I can’t even keep the boys in line half the time, I can’t rule a foreign country.”

”That’s not what —“ Jack drops his head and laughs. “You don’t have to do anything. You remember telling me how when you were five you were obsessed with The Little Mermaid, and your parents told everyone you wanted to be Prince Eric? Then you realized years later that it was only because you wanted to fall in love with a handsome prince? Now both of those things can happen. Papa’s working out the specifics with some of the historians but you’d get a title. Only if we’re married, though.”

“How  _dare_  you use that against me,” Bitty tries to argue, though he really isn’t that upset when Jack steals a quick kiss.

“This is a trick,” Bitty whispers before Jack kisses him again. “A deplorable,”  _kiss_ , “terrible,”  _kiss,_  “shotgun wedding of a trick.”

“As it stands, your official designation would be ‘ _Prince Consort_ ’,” Jack teases, nipping at Bitty’s jaw. “But unofficially, you’d be the Lord of my Heart.”

Bitty can’t fight the laugh that bubbles in his throat.

“Was that too much? I went too far.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Bitty breathes, leaning into the contact as Jack tries to worm a hand under his shirt to tickle his stomach. “Mama is going to murder you if we get married like this.”

“I have guards, now,” Jack counters. “I’d like to see her try. Besides, they’re already on their way. MooMaw, too.”

Bitty stills, thinking through the logistics of getting his family to move so quickly.

“How much time  _did_  you have?”

“Well, I am going to be a King,” Jack chirps, burying his face against Bitty neck. “Need to make sure my Prince is taken care of.”

“Need to make sure your ‘Prince’ is even a Prince,” Bitty murmurs.

“Will you marry me?” Jack asks softly, still hiding his face against Bitty’s neck. “Officially? Probably in a room downstairs with more government officials present than family. It won’t be romantic but —“

“If I divorce you later do I get half of Canada?” Bitty interrupts, lacing his fingers in Jack’s hair to tug at his scalp lightly. “You obviously would keep Quebec but I really think I want Ontario.”

Jack stills and Bitty doesn’t know what reaction he’s actually going to get before Jack replies, “Of course, that should go without saying. Though do you think we should live so close if we separated on bad terms?”

Bitty presses a kiss to Jack’s hairline, distracting him.

“Oh, honey, of course I’ll marry you. Even if it’s only a huge distraction so you can dismantle an outdated Canadian institution and save your national parks.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

Bitty nudges Jack’s face up and plants a kiss square on his lips.

“I’m completely exhausted,” he whispers. “I’m exhausted and my boyfriend turned fiancee is long-lost royalty. I haven’t even finished school and I’m going to be a Prince. I don’t have the energy to freak out about this right now. First, let’s get my parents here, and the priest, then we can discuss crippling panic attacks and life changes we’re not prepared for.”

“ _Crisse_ , I love you,” Jack pulls himself up and crushes Bitty in a bear hug. “And if it helps at all, I think I might be able to get Beyoncé to attend the coronation.”

Bitty smiles at the thought.

“Oh, honey, one step at a time. You’re the King of Canada. Not a god.”


	2. 'Lake Spirits' - A Zimbits Fic for Mermay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The afterlife is a lot wetter than Jack imagined. A lot wetter, a lot more Canadian, and full of a lot more cute boys. Well, one cute boy in particular."
> 
> CW: Character Death
> 
> (Little morbid, kinda cute. Jack and Bitty are both implied to have died in outdoor skating accidents and are now charged with guarding the lakes where their human bodies still reside. They're fine with it.)

He’s resigned himself to an eternity of loneliness. A great, vast, silent world where he’s both cursed and blessed to experience the natural world as the Lord intended. He is both damned and at peace. Heaven and Hell. He is everything and nothing. He is –

“Hey! Hi!”

– being yelled at.

Jack rolls over onto his side and finds a dripping wet young man waving excitedly from across the embankment.

“I am so sorry about your accident, I saw the whole thing but I’m kinda tied to my little pond over here. You doing alright? I know it’s a heck of an adjustment.”

Jack stares, not quite certain if this is a cosmic test or some kind of an illusion.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, where are my manners? I’m Eric. So, funny story really, I was up here for a skating competition and some of the guys thought we should rough it and skate on ‘real ice’. Well, I agreed but didn’t really consider the fact it was March, and next thing you know, here we are! Boys kept it a hell of a secret too, ‘cause no one ever did come looking.” Eric waves a dripping hand and flashes a smile. “But enough about me, tell me about yourself,  _mister_ …?”

“…Jack. I’m Jack,” he forces, realizing he hasn’t actually spoken since he, well, since he  _died_. “Wait, you went skating in March?  _Here?_ ”

“Honey, you don’t have to tell me twice, I’m the one that died.”

Just like that, turns out Jack isn’t going to spend eternity alone.

 

* * *

 

“I miss having legs,” Eric folds his arms on a log and rests his head on his forearms with a sigh. “If I have to spend my afterlife in the woods, I at least want to explore a little. And baking! Oh, Jack, I used to make the most amazing cookies –“

It’s been months since Jack woke up dead, with scales and fins, tied to a single lake in rural Quebec because he was dumb enough to not check the ice before skating. In the time since he’s learned a lot about himself and the other man that shares his similar fate.

Eric Bittle is a southern boy who loves his mama, Beyoncé, and skating. His hair is a mossy green now but he assures Jack he used to be a blonde. Apparently, he was a hell of a baker as well before his ‘accident’. He’s cute, he’s funny, and, for some reason, he can’t leave his own body of water.

Now, Jack’s lake isn’t massive but it’s a good size with plenty of streams and inlets to map. He knows it’ll get old soon, but for now, he’s content to lazily lap the shore, investigating what guardian spirit stewardship has to offer.

He  _was_  content before he managed to hoist himself up with a low hanging tree branch only to find Eric’s ‘lake’ is no larger than a drainage pond, minuscule in comparison to his own; barely larger than the man-made pond his father had dug out for their winter home.

“ _Tabarnak_ , Eric, you must be going stir crazy.”

“Oh, no, it’s really nice, in the winter people come out because it’s the perfect size for skating. Lots of kids and families. I have to make sure they’re safe, you know? That’s why I’m here.”

Jack looks around at the trees, lush and green following a warm spring. “What do you do in the summer?”

“I watch the animals, mostly. Play with the turtles. Make sure the goslings don’t wander off. Stuff like that.”

“Do a lot of people die here?” Jack asks, floating on his back and staring at the clouds, trying not to move while a turtle crawls over his shoulder. 

“I think it’s just us,” Eric calls from the other pond. “I mean, I’ve never seen anyone else. I think we’re here to stop that from happening. Again, I’m sorry about that.”

Jack laughs and waves off the apology, not for the first time.

“Hey, bud,” Jack greets, lifting his head out of the water as the turtle keeps crawling. “You’re on my chest.”

The turtle startles and hides in its shell, balanced on Jack’s sternum. For a brief moment, Jack considers the physics of trying to launch something the size of a turtle off the end of his tail. Not an  _actual_ turtle. Maybe a rock.

 _Crisse_ , he misses hockey. Maybe he and Eric can come up with some sort of game.

“Can you come over here?” Jack asks, watching the turtle poke it’s head out cautiously.

“I’ve never tried,” Eric admits. “I wasn’t sure what the rules were but I don’t think we can leave the water.”

“Huh. It’s, what, five meters? Between you and me?”

“Meters? That’s like 16 feet? Yeah, I’d say so.”

The plan that forms in Jack’s mind has nothing to do with the fact Eric is attractive, or as dead as Jack is, or how clearly the universe intended for them to be stuck together in  _some_  capacity; rather it has to do with Jack’s selfless drive to make Eric’s afterlife more comfortable.

Completely selfless. 

“I’m going to dig out a trench before winter,” Jack announces.

“What was that?” Eric calls back. “I was under – look, I think I found a crawfish!”

“I’m gonna do it,” Jack whispers to himself, nudging the turtle a little only to be rewarded with a hiss.

* * *

 

Jack spends the next three days clawing at the embankment that separates his lake from Eric’s pond. Five meters isn’t much and time isn’t an issue anymore. 

He figures if a higher power wanted to keep them separated, Jack would have been stopped already, so he keeps going.

The sticks and rocks he uses aren’t quite enough; in one of his more morbid acts, he swims down to what’s left of his corpse and shimmies lose a skate to use the blade like an axe.

“Hey, Jack? What are you doing?”

Jack pauses and looks up to see Eric waving.

“You’re not that far away, I think we can connect the ponds,” Jack explains, digging at a tough root. “Maybe you can come over here. Have more space. Or something.”

“You’d want that? Really?”

Jack’s dead. He shouldn’t still be this fucking awkward. When he looks up from his task, Eric is pushed up on his arms, against the bank, watching him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, I mean, we’re here for a reason, and it looks like it’ll be just the two of us for a long time, so, maybe we should be closer. Or something.”

Eric’s blue-tinged skin flushes pink and he flips back under the surface, tail splashing up water before disappearing completely.

Jack curses when he doesn’t immediately reappear. Then, with a splash—

“— I can help!” Eric announces brightly, holding a skate aloft. Jack balks slightly at the algae-covered bone still dangling from the shoe but Eric just laughs in embarrassment when he notices.

“Oops, sorry, hon. Got a little carried away, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

Something sails over Jack’s head, large, algae covered, it floats for a brief moment before sinking. It’s followed by a stick, then another, little  _plink, plink_ sounds as bits of  _something_  whistle across the divide into Jack’s lake.

“Hey, bud, what are you doing?”

Eric pops up from the water, hair dripping, and holds up something that looks suspiciously like a human skull.

“I’m moving my bones,” he explains cheerfully before reeling back and throwing the skull over Jack’s head. “I don’t know the rules, maybe I’m tied to where I died, so if I put some of me in both ponds, I can move around more.”

It’s incredibly morbid but it makes sense. Jack takes a break and swims down to what’s left of his body and small crayfish trying to drag away a pale knucklebone. It should upset him more, being dead, seeing his own body, negotiating with a tiny crustacean for a piece of his  _own_  skeleton, but  _c’est la vie._

Or,  _c’est la mort_ , in this case.

He returns to the surface and waves at Eric before throwing the bone into Eric’s pond.

“Now we can be together,” Jack offers when Eric’s face splits into a smile. 

“Well aren’t you a charmer?”

Jack can’t hide the heat in his cheeks and he ducks back into the water to keep digging.

 

* * *

 

Summer brings people, people bring snorkels and boats and fishing poles. Eventually, one of those poles pulls up one of Jack’s skates. 

The one with bones still inside.

“They’re going to dredge the lake,” Eric laments, sticking close to the edge of his pond as they watch the men in the boat. “They’re going to find your body and pull out all your bits — what if they give you a proper burial? You could disappear!”

Jack thinks he’s supposed to want that. To be found. To have a proper funeral. Maybe he did at the beginning but now he just wants  _this_. He wants to connect the ponds. He wants to see winter. He really wants Eric.

“I’m not going to disappear,” Jack counters, though the thought causes a laugh to rise in his throat. “It could be you they find.” 

“You don’t know! There could be rules!”

Jack wiggles his finger at Eric.

“You’ve got a piece of me over there, remember?”

“I made that up!” Eric panics. “I don’t know anything about any of this! I’m guessing!”

“Bud, it’s going to be okay,” Jack tries to soothe. “Look they don’t even know it’s me. I mean, what’s the worst that happens? The dredge the lake and build a partial skeleton from you and me? Nothing to worry about.”

“No, it’s just a human foot in a hockey skate,” Eric sasses dryly. “Nothing suspicious about that at all. They don’t seem that worried, all that screaming over nothing.”

Eric huffs and disappears back under the water. When it becomes clear Jack isn’t going to see him again for a while, Jack dives as well, dodging hooks and nets to get a hand under his ribcage and drag what’s left of his body somewhere else. Maybe he’ll bury it under the rocks by the collapsed Sugar Maple. 

Anything to put Eric at ease.

 

* * *

 

They finish digging out the embankment in mid-fall.

A trickle turns to a stream and really it’s quite anti-climactic. The bodies of water connect and Eric tentatively hauls himself over the divide and into the much cooler waters of Jack’s lake. Eric splashes around and doesn’t look like he’s dying, or defying the natural order, so Jack asks, “Are you good? Don’t feel sick or anything?”

In response, Eric howls in delight.

“Look at this! You have so much space!”

He slips under briefly and Jack almost follows before Eric is back, slamming up against his side, hugging Jack tightly.

“Thank you, Jack!  _Thank you, thank you, thank you!_ ”

“You’re welcome, bud. I’m sorry it took so long. I knew you were lying about being okay with how small your pond is.”

Jack can’t help but lean into the touch, the only physical contact he’s had since before he died, and he reaches down to clutch Eric tighter.

“Oh, I was lying through my teeth, Lord, I could just kiss you –”

Jack leans down then and presses his lips to Eric’s cool cheek, earning a delighted gasp and a hand on his chest.

“Jack?” Eric looks up nervously. “You could do that with my lips, too, if you wanted?” 

Jack does want, and he is happy to oblige.

 

* * *

 

When winter comes and the water freezes over, Jack and Eric race along the underside of the ice, chasing skaters and pucks, patching thin spots in the ice, and breaking open areas that shouldn’t be covered.

“He keeps picking up his feet,” Jack comments, resting on the silt bed and watching a man teach his child to skate. “He’ll keep falling.”

“Oh, hush, they’re trying their best,” Eric chides, curling against Jack’s side, tucking his tail under Jack’s. “Besides, if anything happens, that’s why we’re here, remember? To help.”

Jack blows a few bubbles and watches them float up only to get trapped under the ice sheet.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs, clutching Eric tight. “We’re here to help.”


	3. Prompt: Zimbits, NHL!Bitty - Star-crossed Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt from @quokas-kiss: "Also I just saw the star-crossed lover prompt(#64) and I had and idea, what if jack and Eric had played for rival college hockey teams, and jack saw the potential in Eric and still help with his fears of checking, they both end up in the NHL but they're on rival teams again!!!"
> 
> This is set a bit later when Jack and Bitty meet up again in the NHL

“Yo, Bittle, you seem tense, Falcs really got you this on edge? Is it because of Zimmermann? Aren’t you two, like, old college rivals or something?”

“Falcs got nothing on us,” Eric answers vaguely, before shoving in his mouth guard and continuing his stretches, hoping the rookie will give up attempting to rile him. 

Across the ice, Eric is watching the Falconers’ Captain warm up, running suicides trying to display his speed, balancing pucks on the inside of his stick as he spins around the net, delighting the kids behind the glass. Generally being a beloved figurehead of the sport through a shameless, disgusting display of natural born talent. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else, it’s not an intimidation technique; the man is showing off. Practically preening.

18,000 people in the arena and not a one has a clue that they’re actually watching Jack Zimmermann’s mating dance.

A dance directed 100% at Eric.

The boys start catcalling his name and Eric looks up to see the Jumbotron playing the old clip from Nationals. A quick look reveals Zimmermann watching along with the rest of the crowd. Eric’s eyes catch on a sign over his shoulder that has Eric’s number in sloppy green glitter with a picture of a misshapen top.

Eric abandons his gloves and helmet, skating to center ice, smiling as the crowd realizes what’s happening and starts cheering.

This is Eric’s house. His fans. He won’t let Zimmermann trip him up on home ice.

He does a quick lap past his boys, who whistle loudly, and launches into a loose double axel, pointing at the sign conveniently behind Zimmermann and shooting a wink when he lands.

The little girl screams and waves the sign while Zimmermann’s face goes pink and the rest of the Falcs try to refocus.

Eric skates back to grab his gloves and grins when Jonesy mimes throwing flowers at his feet.

“Is he still looking?” Eric asks, and Jonesy nods emphatically. 

“You really know how to get into his head, man.”

“Years of practice,” Eric chirps, looking back up at the monitor to see a replay of his unsanctioned display.

No matter who wins, Eric is definitely getting laid tonight.


	4. The Morning After - a Baby Jack, Cup Magic interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by fanart of Bitty holding baby Jack by @parseitively on Tumblr. Takes place the morning after the Falconers' cup win.

“Okay, okay, look it’s not that bad, it’s —“

_“Bah-bah.”_

“Bitty, my dude, this is pretty fucking bad,” Shitty counters. “Pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen when you win a Cup.”

_“Plllllllllfffffttttttt —“_

“No, man, Cup’s revenge for that time he shit in it,” Snowy yawns. 

“He is like little gremlin, how he become so handsome is mystery,” Tater is holding the baby, now, with its weird little bald head and huge blue eyes watching the room. Maybe. One eye is a little off. Or they’re both off.

_Lord._

“Zimboni come from Cup, now he return to cup,” the baby squeals delightedly as Tater holds him above the silver bowl and lowers him slowly until his feet touch the bottom.

 _“Zimboni come back_ ,” Tater announces regally like he’s channeling some ancient ceremony.  _“Return, now!”_

They all wait a few seconds. The baby spits up.

Ransom claps.

“Oh, no, sweet-pea look at your face,” Bitty takes a Falconers’ rally towel and dabs at the baby’s chin, cooing, “did you make a mess?”

“Please tell me someone is recording this,” Lardo chirps. “I need a video record.”

“Fuck, I’m trying but,” Holster flips his phone around and the screen is white. “Every time I try to take a picture of him it seizes up.”

“Cup magic, bro,” Snowy says sagely. “There’s a reason you can’t prove this shit.”

“Has anyone called Bob and Alicia?” Bitty asks, taking the baby from Tater and bouncing him on his hip gently. “I feel like they should be here.”

Shitty raises his hand.

“Like twenty minutes ago, they should be here any time.”

“Oh, look at my handsome man,” Bitty teases as the baby babbles happily, grabbing at Bitty’s shirt. “You’re so tiny I could just eat you up.”

“This is heartwarming and disturbing,” Shitty laments. “My sweet Jack is a baby.”

“Your sweet Jack is just a sweet baby,” Bitty corrects softly, making funny faces at the child. “A sweet baby with some kind of serious vision problem, bless his little heart.”

_“Bahbahbah.”_

“I know, honey,” Bitty leans down and presses a kiss to the barely-there wisps of hair on the crown of the baby’s head. “You’re doing the best you can.”

A loud knock on the door startles them all and every eye turns to the baby, whose face twists up but stops just short of crying as Bitty resumes bouncing and whispering softly, jerking his head to the entryway so someone will answer.

Shitty gets there first and checks the peephole.

“Bitty, they’re here.”

“Well let ‘em in!” Bitty half-shouts, a sound the baby mimics with a happy screech.

“We came as fast as we could when you said Cup magic, we —“ Bob is barely in the door when he catches sight of Bitty and freezes, nearly tripping Alicia behind him.

 _“Pahhhhhhhh,”_ the baby gurgles reaching out from Bitty’s arms when he sees Bob.

 _“Crisse de Tabarnak,”_ Bob says, stunned, and the baby squeals when he hears him.  _“Jack.”_

Bitty has never seen Bob move so quickly, leaping over the back of the couch and taking Jack gently from Bitty’s arms. The baby babbles excitedly and slaps at Bob’s cheeks while the Legend rambles in soft French and begins to tear up as Alicia rushes from behind.

Bitty catches ‘ _boy_ ’, ‘ _little_ ’, and ‘ _snow_ ’ before he gives up trying to poorly translate. What he really gets out of it is Bob is  _very_  happy to see his child…as a child.

“I woke up and he was in the Cup,” Bitty explains as Bob reluctantly hands the baby to Alicia, who immediately begins crying as well.

_“Maaaaaaaa —“_

“It’ll wear off,” Bob says brusquely, wiping tears from his face. “A day or two at most.”

Tater coughs to get Bob’s attention. 

“Are his eyes okay?” Snowy asks gently, still too blunt for Bitty’s comfort.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Alicia soothes, running a hand over Jack’s scalp as he nods tiredly against her chest. “His eye muscles are just a bit weak; shouldn’t be a baby long enough to need the eyepatch again.”

“Eyepatch?” Bitty’s brain short circuits.

“Our Little Snowball,” Alicia giggles softly, kissing Jack’s head. “Ah, he still smells like I remember. Bobby, come and smell him.”

“I already did,” Bob answers, hanging back. “You boys have a presser to get to,” he reminds them. “Tater, Snowy, hop to. Shitty, Ransom, Holster, Larissa, you should head out as well. We’ll take it from here. Eric will update you when Jack’s back to normal.”

The apartment clears out slowly until Bitty is left alone with a tiny version of his boyfriend and said boyfriend’s parents.

“He’s so small,” Bitty says, laying out a blanket for Alicia to lay Jack down on; Jack immediately sticks his foot in his mouth. “And flexible.”

“That’s nothing watch this,” Bob snatches a rogue puck from the pool table and lays down beside Jack to rest the rubber disk on the baby’s belly.

“Oh, Bobby, clean that off before –”

It’s too late, the puck is in Jack’s mouth before they can blink and Alicia is dying with laughter. The sound is infectious and Bitty can’t help but slide down on the blanket opposite Bob, giggling at the happy noises Jack is making.

“He really loves that, doesn’t he?” Bitty tickles the baby’s tummy and gets a muffled giggle around the puck. “Cutie-pie.”

“His favorite baby toy,” Bob smiles, blowing softly over Jack’s sparse hair as he gnaws. “We had stuffed animals and blocks, anything and everything we could find but his favorite was always just a puck. He’ll be back to normal soon. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“And the presser?” Bitty asks, fingers dancing as he counts all of Jack’s toes. 

“I vote we take him in like this,” Alicia chuckles. “No one will question it, this is obviously our child.”

“Wish it worked like that,” Bob sighs. “Just have to wait it out.”

Jack stills and Bitty watches as his parents do the same.

“Uh, oh,” Alicia whispers. “Incoming.”

 _“Tabarnak,_ ” Bob curses. “I definitely don’t miss this part.”

It’s a few seconds before the smell hits Bitty.

_“Oh, my god —“_

 Jack squeals happily.


	5. Flurry the Falcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a crush on the Falconers' mascot, he just doesn't know who's inside.

There’s something disarming about the Falconers’ mascot, Flurry: an anthropomorphic white falcon with a penchant for leaving snacks in the nook whenever Marketing films a new episode of Falcs TV. 

When Jack has to do outreach, he likes working with his teammates, but he loves working with Flurry because the kids give Jack a whole five seconds of attention before lunging after their costumed character. 

It’s heaven.

Logically, Jack knows the guy in the suit has to work in the front office somewhere but Jack’s never been able to figure out who it is. He doesn’t spend much time with PR and marketing, he just goes where he’s told and smiles when they drop him in front of a camera.

“Hey, Snowball,” he chirps when the PR intern has pried the last child from Flurry’s legs. “Finally free?”

Flurry waves in greeting — he never speaks at public events, it’s a rule — and Jack is proud he only fumbles a little when he signs a clumsy  _‘look [I have been] practicing’_

Even wearing gloves Flurry is faster is than Jack when he responds,  _‘Nice work, Jack’_

Flurry’s sign for ‘Jack’ always makes Jack’s heart flutter. It’d taken a while for Jack to realize he had his own designate — a quick ‘J’ before the sign for ‘goal’ — but now he can’t miss it.

“Long day?” _  
_

_‘Done soon.’_

Jack smiles and poses for more photos before getting an arm around Flurry’s shoulders — the huge falcon head still knocking against Jack’s face — and he leans in against the pained mesh earhole to say, “One day I’m going to figure out who you are in there.”

Flurry waves at a small child before signing back, ‘ _You already have. I’m me.’_

“You say that every time!” Jack laughs and elbows the padded chest of the costume before lifting a small child into his arms for another photo op. “One day I’ll figure it out, I’m only a little dense.”

* * *

“Jack’s got a crush on the mascot,” Snowy teases. “Why else would he volunteer for every Junior Falconers event?”

“I do not,” Jack defends, pulling on his pads. “If I have to be on camera, I like not being the most exciting person in the room. That’s all. Kids love Flurry.”

“I heard front office is looking to change his name. Too close to ‘Fleury’,” Thirdy says, knocking Jack’s kneepad with his stick. “You gonna be bummed if that happens?”

“Fuck that,” Snowy chides. “We’ve had Flurry as long as Fleury’s been alive. I’ll be bummed.”

“Still confusing.”

“Do you think they need help with a new name?” Jack wonders aloud, not surprised to be ignored.

He makes a decision to stop by the front office and find out. Maybe actually meet Flurry in person. He just needs to get through practice first.

* * *

“Jack? I thought that was you,” Georgia is still in her chair when she rolls out into the hallway. “What are you doing up here?”

“I want to help with Flurry. I have an idea for a new name.”

“Oh,” Georgia’s brow furrows. “Eric Bittle handles everything about Flurry. I’m a bit surprised you don’t already know that?”

Jack fights the rush of embarrassment, glossing the comment and pointing down the hall.

“Marketing, right?”

She nods and rolls back into her office while Jack checks nameplates until he finds an open door and a young man typing away at a computer.

“Bittle, right?” Jack greets, holding out a hand. “George said you’re working on rebranding Flurry.”

The man startles and spins, stares for a second, clearly confused, before rising to reach out and take Jack’s hand.

“I am, indeed,” he says, with a humor Jack can’t quite place. “Call me Eric.”

It’s only when Bittle stands that Jack gets a good look at his ‘coworker’ and realizes he’s cute. Really cute. Also shorter than expected.

But still cute.

“Uh, right, Eric? I heard you were, uh,” Jack loses his train of thought, taking in the adorable bow-tie at Bittle’s throat. “Flurry? I want to help Flurry.”

Eric smiles broadly and lifts his hands in front of his chest and shows they’re shaking. It takes a moment to realize it’s not just a gesture, Bittle is signing at him. 

_‘Nervous?’_

Jack blinks, looks around at the pictures on the walls, pictures of a white falcon and signs,  _F-L-U-R-R-Y?_

“Took you long enough, Zimmermann,” Eric chirps, dropping back into his chair. “All you had to do was come upstairs.”

Jack’s mind goes blank.

“Snowy was right,” he blurts, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. “I have a crush on the mascot.”

Eric’s eyes go wide and his cheeks go pink, but Jack is probably bright red so it’s okay.


	6. Literal Cup Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Jack was born. Kinda. More like 'found'.

_**Now:** _

“Your mother didn’t actually give birth to you,” Bob tries to explain.

“Like a surrogate,” Jack nods. “Why would I be upset about that?”

“Not like a surrogate, honey,” Alicia sets her coffee down and looks to her husband for support. “More like, we sort of … Found you?”

“You were in the cup,” Bob admits, twisting his napkin in his hands.

“The cup.” Jack looks at his parents before turning to Bitty, who appears as lost as Jack is.

“Well …”

* * *

**_Then, one fine Cup Day:_ **

Bob rolls over and finds the other half of the bed empty.

_“’licia?”_

Alicia shushes him fiercely from where she’d kneeling on the edge of the bed, pointing an urgent finger at the cup. She’s mouthing something insistent and Bob can’t make out what the hell she’s trying to say and says, “What?”

“I said,” Alicia hisses, “there’s a  _baby_ , in the  _cup_.”

“Bullshit.”

Bob throws off the covers, still naked from the events of the night before, and crawls to where Alicia is having a quiet panic attack.

“There is a baby,” Alicia repeats hoarsely, volume edging up with every distressed word, “Bobby there’s a baby in the cup. Why is there a baby? Whose baby is it!?”

Bob peeks over his wife’s shoulder and sees the cup dimly reflecting the morning light while a lump of cloth rustles in the bowl. He tugs the cloth gently and exposes a tiny foot.

 _“Crisse de Calisse de Tabarnak –”_ Bob recoils and tugs Alicia against his chest. A soft gurgle comes from the cup and Bob freezes. More soft noises follow as the blanket moves and the foot kicks.

“It’s in the cup,” Bob realizes, immediately awake. “Alicia. There’s a baby in the cup.”

“No shit it’s a baby,” Alicia snaps, eyes red. “How did it get here?”

Bob slides off the bed and pads carefully to the cup. He can’t see much, more blanket, but when he tugs the cloth away he finds a naked infant sleeping in the bowl of Lord Stanley’s Cup.

“Ali,” Bob whispers, unable to look away from the child. “C'mere.”

The baby is clutching a hockey puck like a stuffed animal. Bob recognizes the tape wrapped around it and the rough marker that reads:  ’ _Bobby Z’s First Goal’._

“It’s not our baby,” Alicia insists. “He’s not a cup wish, this is a terrible prank.”

The baby snuffles and yawns before opening his eyes, revealing an unsettlingly bright blue color that is terribly familiar. The baby squeals when he sees Bob, hands grabbing toward him, and there’s no way the child isn’t theirs. Bob would bet his life on it. 

He holds the baby out to his wife defiantly.

“Swear on our marriage he doesn’t have your eyes. Look at that face.”

“I’m so happy I think I’m going to throw up,” Alicia gags, taking the baby from Bob. “We need to make sure he’s … Not someone else’s … Oh, god, why does he smell like that?”

Bob looks down into the cup and some of the moment’s magic disappears.

“Oh. Euh.”

_________

**_Now:_ **

“That’s funny.” Jack leans back in his seat, flashing Bitty a grin. “That’s good, you guys put a lot of effort into that I almost believed you. Cup wish. That’s actually hilarious.”

Bitty doesn’t miss the way Bob’s expression slips from serious to confused, then relieved.

“Yeah,” Bob laughs, nudging his wife’s hand. “A joke! This was all just a fun … Prank.”

Bob coughs and takes a drink of water, still not looking at Bitty.

“We shouldn’t take up any more of your day,” Alicia says suddenly, grabbing her purse and elbowing Bob. “We should go. Right, Bobby?”

“That was weird, eh?” Jack smiles and steals Bitty’s glass to try his drink as his parents depart. “Good joke. I’ll have to remember that.”


	7. Friends With Benefits AU - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a NSFW prompt by bittysbetterbootybureaus: AU where the only reason bitty hooks up with other men is to get jack’s attention, because he and jack are hookup buddies and he noticed that everytime he was intimate with another man, jack would fuck him extra hard and cling to him the next day as well.

 

Part 1:

 

Eric hadn’t intended for it to develop the way it had, this thing with Jack.

It’d started innocently enough, a dare during hazeapalooza that ended up becoming an aggressive ‘no-homo’ makeout session on Coach Hall’s desk. The boys waived it off as Jack taking one for the team, Shitty had praised him for not being a homophobic douche-bro, but straight boys didn’t kiss like Jack did: slipping hands under shirts and nudging thickly muscled thighs between their partner’s legs for optimal friction.

These were not the moves of a straight hockey bro.

Jack had skill. Jack had experience. Best of all, Jack had  _secrets_.  

After Eric had come riding Jack’s extremely well defined quad, and Jack had shuddered to completion beneath Eric’s palm, it was mutually agreed upon that they weren’t dating, or treating each other any differently at practice; but soon Jack was tugging Eric into quiet enclaves, supply closets, behind stacks in the library, finally using some excuse about homework to slip into Eric’s room and, subsequently, his bed.

Despite the continued intimate interactions and his increased presence in and around Eric’s personal space, Jack still dated. He went to coffee with co-eds, had study dates with old and current flames, and regularly spent his time at Kegsters picking up puck-bunnies. Which might have been upsetting if Eric hadn’t spent most of his free time doing the same damn thing.

Though there was a twist to Jack’s previously established ‘live and let live’ policy: the fact that Zimmermann was jealous and possessive to a fault.

Eric had seen shades of it in the covert hickies Jack loved to leave on him after a hook-up, but it had really come full circle after Winter Screw. Eric’s date, a very thick, very handsy football player who validated the hell out of Eric’s repressed youth, had been all over him for most of the evening.

While Jack had spent most of the night with his date, Eric hadn’t missed the possessive looks Jack shot his way every time James’ hands dipped below Eric’s waist.

The resulting hook up had been as much a response to James’ teasing as it had been Jack’s jealousy.

Later that night, after James had slipped out because he had practice in the morning, Jack came knocking, flushed and agitated, in full captain mode. Eric had expected a talking to, not to be bent double over his desk for one of the most intense fucks of his life.

“You like this?” Jack had groaned, biting at Eric’s shoulder as he fucked him. “You like being filled by every guy that rolls through here?”

“Just the ones with big dicks,” Eric had countered, arching back into the thrusts as Jack kept up his punishingly erratic pace, “and he was bigger than you,” Eric chirped, trying to drag the animal out of Jack.

The night was a blur after that. Jack had thrown him on the bed and the rest was history. A new precedent. New rules. They still weren’t dating but they were  _something_.

Something that fed on jealousy, voyeurism, and Jack being publicly straight.

“You still hanging out with Camilla?” Eric asks, playing with the foreskin on Jack’s spent cock, tugging it up over the glans and sliding it down again to reveal the shiny pink skin.

“Mmm, she has some kind of scholarship luncheon. Wants me to meet her parents,” Jack answers, running his hand along Eric’s back. “Take photos.”

“You going to sleep with her? Tonight?”

“Might,” Jack plays with the short hairs at the nape of Eric’s neck. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Nothing of note,” Eric drops his head to Jack’s chest and contemplates the afternoon up to this point. “Maybe fuss around on Grindr. You know, there’s this one guy that keeps trying to meet up — I think he’s a hockey player — has a little Providence Falconers tattoo in one of his photos that’s covered up in all the others —“

The limp cock in Eric’s hand begins to swell as Jack growls,  _“You know not to fuck hockey players.”_

“Why not?” Eric gives Jack a rough squeeze. “It’s not like I don’t fuck everyone else.”

One day, maybe Jack will come out and they’ll have a normal relationship full of flowers and love notes, but for now, Eric will take what he can get: 185 lbs. of possessive, closeted French Canadian.

 

* * *

 

Part 2:

 

Eric weeps like a baby at graduation. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Jack and Shitty to be moving on to bigger and better things — the NHL and Harvard, respectively — but for the end of whatever pseudo-romantic thing he’s built with Samwell’s favorite son. 

Jack is far too cautious to risk ruining his reputation now that he’s going pro. The sneaking around isn’t worth it. The sex isn’t worth it.  _Eric_  isn’t worth it.

Even though Jack’s never expressed any of this verbally, Eric isn’t a fool; he wouldn’t risk his future to spare the feelings of a friend he fucks occasionally, he can’t expect anything different of Jack.

His pity party doesn’t last as long as he’d thought because Jack comes bursting into Chowder’s room, sweating and panting like he’s sprinted all the way from the quad, which he probably has, and blurts,  _“Bits,”_  before taking Eric’s lips in the softest kiss they’ve ever shared, cupping Eric’s face in his warm, slightly sweaty hands.

It’s ridiculously romantic, the mood is broken every few seconds by insistent vibrations from Jack’s phone.

“Hon?” Eric whispers, keeping his eyes shut to chase Jack’s lips.

“Ignore it,” Jack says huskily, nipping at Eric’s bottom lip. “They can wait. I’m sorry, Bits, I should have figured it out sooner.”

“ _Mmm?_ ”

“You’re perfect,” Jack praises between kisses, his hair starting to shake loose of whatever gel he’d used to style with. “Everything about you. All this time.”

There’s a warmth that shivers through him at the sentiment.

“Oh, honey, even when I’m sleeping with people who aren’t you?”

Jack pulls Eric into his arms without breaking contact, getting an arm under Eric’s ass to hike him up off the ground.

“You know I love a good challenge,” Jack admits, trying to hold onto Eric against the slick material of his robes. “Now it’s my turn to prove I’m worthy of being the only one you’re with. If you’ll have me.”

Of all the things Eric was expecting Jack to say, it wasn’t that.

“Oh, sweetheart, I —“

“Can I blow you?” Jack breathes against Eric’s cheek. “ _Please_.”

“Jack, hon, you hardly need to ask,” Eric tugs Jack’s hair and directs him to the bed.

“But I do need to,” Jack replies, lifting Eric into a fireman hold. “I want you to be my boyfriend, not my booty-call.”

Eric hangs limply across Jack’s back and reaches down to squeeze his partner’s ass; Eric receives a light swat on the behind for his trouble.

“I want to fuck you,” Eric admits before Jack drops him on the mattress and slides to his knees beside the bed, waiting for Eric to make the next move. “Would you let me do that?”

Jack’s pupils are blown so wide they’re almost black, his breathing is uneven and his skin is flushed.

“I’d like that,” he admits, slipping a hand under his robes to palm himself through his slacks.

“Oh yeah?” Eric undoes the button on his fly and eases down the zipper that’s pressed hard against his dick; it might have been a mistake to forgo the underwear today. Or not. If Jack’s mouth is the reward he’s getting.

Eric pulls himself free and Jack’s lips are already parted, his jaw loose, waiting.

“Show me just how much you’d like it, sugar,” Eric breathes, watching Jack move in close to lick at the head of his cock. “Mmm, how bad you’d like me to slide my fingers inside that gorgeous backside of yours.”

Jack sucks him down fully and groans at the comment, grabbing one of Eric’s hands to guide it to Jack’s scalp.

“Oh, honey, you like that? You like me being in control?”

Eric actually gets a hummed affirmation from the man ticking Eric’s pubic hair with his nose. Between the pressure on his cock and the visual of the man he’s loved for nearly a year on his knees trying to prove himself worthy, Eric isn’t going to last long.

He can’t if the buzzing on the nightstand is anything to go by.

Instead, Eric leans into the feeling, the happiness, the filthy things he wants to say, wants Jack to hear just as badly.

“Oh, sweet boy, I’d get you so loose for me. So loose I could slip in whenever I wanted,” Eric pants while Jack’s head bobs beneath his hand. “I bet you’d like that,” he presses, fighting the urge to moan, watching the ripples under the robe as Jack works his own erection, “knowing you’re mine. Maybe one day I’d even come to see you in the locker room when no one’s around and you’re only in your jock — just like Yale, remember Yale?“ Jack whines and clenches his eyes shut, fist moving faster. “— I’d bend you over and have my way with you just before warm-ups, you’d have to think about me inside of you the whole game—“

Eric’s orgasm sneaks up on him before he can warn Jack and he comes deep in Jack’s throat with an aborted shout. Jack pulls off with a gasp and surprises Eric when he doesn’t spit, still seeking his own release.

 _“Keep talking,”_ Jack rasps, lifting his robe so Eric can see his nearly purple erection.  _“Please.”_

Eric’s brain takes a moment to come back online and he licks his lips before whispering, “If we’re exclusive we wouldn’t have to worry about protection. Would you like that, hon? Sitting through a presser with my come dripping out of you? All the boys on your shiny new team seeing the mess I made every time you bent over to pull on your pads?”

Jack pitches forward and buries his face against Eric’s thigh, groaning as he shudders and pants through his orgasm.

Eric can’t think of anything else to do but run his fingers through his partner’s hair as they both come down.

“You’re a little bit of an exhibitionist, aren’t you?” Eric teases, scratching at Jack’s scalp. “I don’t expect you to do any of that, you know.”

Jack pushes himself up and looks at Eric with a blissed-out expression and obvious sex hair. It’s going to be hard to hide what he was up to. With Eric. Who he’s now dating.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, eh?“

Eric’s toes curl with happiness as Jack crawls up onto the bed to kiss him lazily. There’s a crash as Jack’s phone vibrates right off the table, startling them both.

“ _Crisse,_ ” Jack groans, dropping his forehead to Eric’s chest. “I need to go. I’m sorry. George is going to kill me.”

“I have a flight to catch,” Eric admits, checking his watch over Jack’s shoulder. “Sounds like you’ll just have to carve out some time this summer, hmm? Maybe come down for a visit to make sure your boyfriend hasn’t found some strapping Georgian man to warm his bed.”

Jack’s eyes flash but he only grins at the teasing.

“You’re acting pretty cocky for someone spending the summer in his childhood bedroom,” Jack chirps, pressing another kiss to Eric’s cheek. “But, see, your mama loves me; I bet she’d let us sleep in the same room if you asked nicely. The same bed even. I won’t tell if you don’t —”

“Don’t get me all riled up when we both have places to be,” Eric warns, shoving Jack away gently. “Just put that NHL money where your mouth is and come give me a good summer romance before you go changing your mind.”


	8. Angel!Bitty + Cult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The NHL has a yearly retreat that’s a lazy cover for high ranking players to get drunk and try to command ice magic. Jack’s over it. Bob’s really over it. Until they finally manage to summon something.

“Hate these fucking things,” Bob sighs, lifting his hood enough to take a long pull from his beer. “Every damn year I have to watch; everyone knows the magic is in the ice, not in the players. Certainly not in the league front office.”

“Thank you again for dragging me into this,” Jack mumbles, adjusting his own smaller, less-obnoxious mask. There are no air holes and he keeps having to push the thing up so he can breathe.

“It’s tradition,” Bob argues. “A shitty, shitty tradition. You know one of these days we will actually manage to summon something and it’s going to end one of two ways: a bloodbath or an orgy. I’m hoping for the former, put me out of my misery so we never have to do one of these things again.”

A loud cheer goes up across the field, near the bonfire, and they both raise their hands reflexively.

 _“So say we all,”_ Jack says in unison with his father.

It’s Jack’s second Ceremony since he signed with the Providence Falconers and he’s already bored, he can only imagine how his father feels pushing forty of these damn things. He wants to go home, he wants to be in bed with his boyfriend.

“What are they trying to summon this year?”

“An angel,” Bob sighs, finally pulling off his hood for a moment to reveal a mess of sweaty hair. “Or some kind of divine being. Last year it was a demon, year before was a Sphinx, for some reason. At this point, it seems like the front office is just drawing from a hat. We’ve never actually managed to —“

A whip-crack of thunder interrupts his father and Jack looks up at the clear night sky for any sign of a storm. There’s nothing.

“Huh. Well, that’s —“

Their attention is dragged back across the field where the bonfire has shifted from orange to a bright blue.

“ _Tabarnak,_ ” Bob curses, tossing his bottle to the side and pulling his hood back on before taking off toward the commotion. “Looks like they finally managed to do something stupid.”

“Jack follows suit and runs after his father, outpacing the other rubbernecking stragglers, to find the upper echelons of current and past NHL talent huddled around … Something.

Someone in blue grabs Jack’s arm — another Falconer — and Jack hears Marty’s voice say,  _“You have to get him out of here.”_

Jack shoves Marty out of the way and finds Bitty sitting on the ground in his shorts and Jack’s favorite Samwell tee, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face.

“Our Angel!” A man in gold yells, and the crowd roars.

Jack doesn’t look away from his shaking partner, the love of his life, or from the pair of small auburn wings arching delicately from his shoulder-blades.

Someone reaches out to touch Bitty and Jack jumps to smack the hand away. The crowd goes silent and Bitty still keeps his head down, clearly terrified.

“Hey! What the fuck is your problem!? We’ve been blessed we can do whatever we want to it.”

Jack can see Marty, his father, two men in black, one of whom must be Uncle Mario, and a smattering of color-coded allies watching closely and moving lesser ranking players out of the way. Jack can recognize an escape plan when he sees one.

He doesn’t waste any time falling to one knee to scoop Bitty up with one arm under his knees and the other around his chest; he struggles a bit at first, kicking, scratching, but Jack leans in and whispers,  _“Lapin, don’t be scared, it’s me, I’m taking you home.”_

Bitty looks up with red eyes and whispers,  _“Honey?”_


End file.
